


No appointment necessary

by orphean



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Office Blow Jobs, Office Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27703840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphean/pseuds/orphean
Summary: Clark was rubbing circles on Bruce’s slacks, each circle moving him further up Bruce’s thighs.‘Something to remember me by while I’m gone?’ Clark leaned his cheek against the inside of Bruce’s thigh, close enough to his crotch that each of his breaths, even through two layers of cloth, felt like a caress.‘Is Superman gonna blow me in my office?’Bruce was certain that no one else in the world had ever seen Superman smile like that, dirty and excited.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent
Comments: 16
Kudos: 249





	No appointment necessary

Bruce heard a tap on the window. Superman waved and pointed at the balcony door. Bruce opened the door and Clark flew inside the office, hovering half a foot above the ground. He had his feet pointed to the ground, like he was en pointe for ballet.

‘And what are you doing here? Did you run out of cats in trees to save?’

Bruce leaned back in his office chair, tapping his fingertips against the soft leather armrests. Clark laughed.

‘I wanted to see you. I’m leaving on that mission.’ The Green Lanterns had reached out to the League and asked Superman to serve as a diplomatic envoy for an intergalactic trade dispute. He would be gone for three weeks. Clark hadn’t hesitated before he said yes. ‘And, uh, next week is our anniversary. So I thought…’

Bruce hadn’t known that next week was their anniversary. Well. He _knew_ in the sense that he vividly remembered the date of the first time they had actually gone on a _date_ , when they had both realised that one could only end up kissing so many times before it needed to be acknowledged that it meant something. He hadn’t remembered it was _next week_.

‘So you thought...?’ Bruce prompted, sprawling his legs and studying Clark.

‘So I thought maybe I could give you your present early.’ Clark’s feet touched the ground and he dropped to his knees, tracing his fingers from Bruce’s ankles up to his knees.

‘And what gift is that?’

Clark was rubbing circles on Bruce’s slacks, each circle moving him further up Bruce’s thighs.

‘Something to remember me by while I’m gone?’ Clark leaned his cheek against the inside of Bruce’s thigh, close enough to his crotch that each of his breaths, even through two layers of cloth, felt like a caress.

‘Is Superman gonna blow me in my office?’

Bruce was certain that no one else in the world had ever seen Superman smile like that, dirty and excited.

‘That was the general idea,’ Clark agreed and reached out to unbuckle Bruce’s belt.

‘Come here, let’s move over.’

Clark followed Bruce’s directions, crouching under Bruce’s massive mahogany desk. He leaned his head against the back of the desk and watched Bruce undo his slacks. His eyes were so dark they almost seemed wet; his tongue was pressed between his lips. When Bruce had shucked his pants down to his calves, he reached out a hand and Clark moved in. First, he kissed Bruce’s half-erection, laving his tongue over the soft skin. Bruce breathed through his teeth, the _tenderness_ with which Clark always moved feeling almost painful.

It didn’t take long before Bruce was fully hard and Clark had a hand wrapped around his cock, inching more of him into his mouth, wet and slow. Bruce didn’t know if Clark had ever gone down on another man before him (and he didn’t want to ask), but the difference between a year ago and now was night and day. He had been sloppy, too focused on quick strokes and not quite wet enough. Not like now, every shift of his tongue, his lips, his fingers intentional and focused. It was as close to perfection Bruce had ever experienced. 

Clark was doing something with his tongue, somehow both curling and flat, a delicious pressure that made Bruce loll his head back, mouth half-open, eyes fluttered closed. Sometimes Clark would use just a little bit of his powers, pressing his fingertips just too hard into Bruce’s thighs as he spread them, cooling his breath so his tongue was exquisite torture. Bruce loved all of these things, and he opened his mouth to tell Clark this, to praise him for how good he always was to Bruce, how perfect, how wonderful.

Before he could speak, Lex Luthor burst into his office.

‘Mr Luthor, you don’t have an appointment.’ 

Luthor scoffed.

‘I don’t need an appointment.’

‘This is my office and, actually, my company, so I’m pretty sure you need an appointment.’

Considering that he currently had Luthor’s nemesis on his knees for him, Bruce thought he was doing a pretty good job of sounding like his droll business persona.

(Clark, kneeling in the small compartment under Bruce’s desk, considered his options. As far as he could tell, there were three. First option: he could try to leave. With the balcony door closed and Bruce’s legs caging him in, it would be difficult to be inconspicuous. Second option: he could stop and wait for Luthor to leave. Third option: he could just not stop. Bruce could handle it. Bruce would enjoy it.)

Bruce smiled a false smile. Between his legs, Clark moved closer and swallowed deeper. Bruce carded his fingers through Clark’s hair, keeping his hand in place as Clark moved his head, stroking his hair, his neck, the underside of his jaw. It was just the right kind of distracting.

‘I want you to retract your statement about LexCorp.’

‘What statement is that?’

Luthor threw a newspaper onto the desk. Bruce considered the paper. He could reach it, but he’d have to move. Clark exhaled, cool air that made him want to shiver. He didn’t want to move.

‘I’m not wearing my reading glasses. Will you be a doll and read it for me, Lexie?’

Bruce grinned again and Luthor, his face contorted with anger, snatched the paper back.

‘Vicki Vale asked you if you had a comment on the LexCorp stock fluctuations. You said, and I quote: _LexCorp’s problem has always been that their view of the future is founded in a misguided 1950s attitude that the future is chrome and smooth angles. At Wayne Enterprises, we know better. The future isn’t gadgets and toys, but access to healthcare, access to education._ Then blah blah the same ignorant goody-two-shoes bullshit you always spew, then: _Lex Luthor might be a decent polo player, but as a CEO, he really doesn’t know what he’s doing_.’

Clark pulled his head back, almost all the way, his lips tight around Bruce’s head before he swallowed him down again. Bruce breathed through his mouth, hoping his full-body shiver could be interpreted as a sigh of frustration.

‘Okay, I take it back. You’re actually a pretty bad polo player.’

Bruce could hear Luthor grinding his teeth.

‘Issue a statement making it clear that Vale took your words out of context and that you have nothing but respect for me as a business leader.’

‘That’d be a _lie_ , though.’

‘Issue the statement. Or I’ll make life uncomfortable for you.’

‘ _Lexie_!’ Bruce giggled, and the giggle disguised another shudder. ‘Are you threatening me?’

‘I know about your dealings with these so-called heroes. I know you support the Justice League. You don’t cover your tracks _that_ well. And I know–’ Luthor licked his lips, mouth contorted into a manic sneer, ‘I know about your special relationship with Batman.’

‘I let him blow me on the weekends sometimes. That doesn’t make him _special_.’

Clark didn’t laugh, not exactly, but he exhaled in such a way that Bruce could feel his mirth. Luthor looked disgusted and slammed his fist on the desk, leaning forward. Bruce also leaned forward, far enough that his shirt was pressed against the edge of the desk, hiding Clark from view. The movement made Clark swallow him deeper, as deep as he could go. Bruce relished this, Clark’s ability to take all of him without a problem, never gagging, never complaining. He tightened his grip on Clark’s hair and held him there, enjoying the way Clark worked his jaw, his throat, small small movements that felt like heaven.

‘You do know that you’re on candid camera?’

Bruce pointed at the small camera placed in the corner. Every ten seconds, a red light flashed. It _was_ a real camera, and it _was_ recording. Just not this room. Bruce had programmed it to exclusively record reruns of _House Hunters_. If someone tried to hack the camera, they were in for a surprise. Luthor looked at it, his teeth squeaking from how hard he had pressed his jaw together, his eyes burning in anger.

‘It’s a dummy,’ Luthor spat at last.

‘Maybe.’

Bruce shrugged, though feigning indifference was getting difficult. Clark had started moving his head again, the smallest slide of his lips and tongue, pushing back against Bruce’s grip. Bruce wasn’t sure whether the heat of Clark’s mouth or the strength he displayed without any effort was hotter.

‘But do you want to risk it? I can’t imagine the LexCorp board of directors would enjoy watching this little conversation.’ 

Clark squeezed Bruce’s thighs, hard enough to bruise. Bruce licked his lips. He moved his hand and wrapped his fingers around Clark’s throat, just holding them there while Clark bobbed his head, feeling his throat bulge as he took all of Bruce. Maybe the LexCorp board of directors wouldn’t enjoy watching Bruce get blown by Superman, but, god, Bruce would. Not for the first time, he considered the logistics of such a recording. It would be irresponsible, definitely, but if there was enough encryption and he kept it on a device that never connected to the internet – maybe. And if it ended up being leaked – as long as Clark didn’t use his powers, as long as they didn’t do it in the Cave – Bruce could play it off as having a Superman fetish. Bruce Wayne had been through more embarrassing scandals, and this one wouldn’t even technically be _untrue_.

Luthor bristled, his face an unhealthy shade of red. The paper was crushed in his fist, his knuckles white from the pressure. He exhaled through his nose and Bruce was reminded of an enraged bull.

‘This isn’t over, _Wayne_.’ Luthor jabbed a finger at Bruce and rushed out.

The door slammed shut and both Bruce and Clark stayed frozen for several seconds.

‘God, _fuck_.’ Bruce finally exhaled.

He scooted back his chair, pushing it back with his feet and tugging two fingers into the neckline of Clark’s uniform. Clark levitated and let himself be pulled along. When they had moved far enough to get Clark from out under the desk, he pulled off, loosely holding Bruce’s dick between finger and thumb. He grinned at Bruce, a sunny smile that was at odds with how his cheeks and chin were wet with precum and saliva, his lips glistening.

‘Good?’ Clark asked, voice sweet and gravelly like demerara sugar.

Bruce touched Clark’s face, rubbing his thumb over the wet skin, tracing over his lower lip. Clark opened his mouth and flicked his tongue over Bruce’s finger, licking the pad of his thumb like he was trying to memorise his fingerprint.

‘Jesus, Clark, do you know what you fucking do to me?’

Clark leaned his cheek against Bruce’s open palm, looking up at Bruce through his long eyelashes. He looked angelic – Superman always did – but there was a self-satisfied wickedness in his grin that always hit Bruce like a ton of bricks. Clark bowed and lapped his tongue over Bruce’s cockhead, the movement teasing and demanding. Superman’s cape trailed on the floor, sprawling like the trail of a wedding dress. The juxtaposition was intoxicating.

‘I have some idea,’ Clark purred. ‘Come on, stand up. Hand in my hair, please.’

Bruce complied even as the ever-polite _please_ made his knees feel weak. Clark made a small sound, hungry and satisfied, when Bruce gripped his curls and lifted him up. Clark defied gravity, his cape flowing like water from his shoulders, and looked up at Bruce, sliding his thumb over Bruce’s thigh, a silent encouragement. Finding this rhythm was easy, familiar. Bruce couldn’t count the number of times they’d done this, one of Bruce’s hands in Clark’s hair and the other under his jaw, Clark’s eyes full of affection and lips curled in a smile as Bruce fucked his mouth. It was about power, but also trust. Whether hard and fast or slow and leisurely, Clark was yielding to Bruce, knowing that Bruce was doing this because they both wanted this, because they trusted each other.

When Bruce came, his knees buckled, just for a second, and Clark’s strong hands reached out and held him so he did not fall. He still held him when he pulled off, kissing the base of Bruce’s cock before letting him go. Bruce collapsed back into the desk chair and watched Clark smile at him again, back on his knees, and reach out with his cape in his hand to wipe Bruce’s wet thighs and wipe his face down. Clark waited until Bruce had pulled his slacks back on before he levitated again, planting himself in Bruce’s lap. It was an awkward fit, so he was still half-floating when he tilted Bruce’s head with a finger and leaned down to kiss him.

Clark tasted of salt and sex. Clark was his, and he tasted it.

‘Sit on the desk. I want to get you off.’

Bruce couldn’t bite back the whimper when Clark dragged his teeth along his neck.

‘Can’t. It’s time for me to go.’ Clark sounded apologetic, and each kiss he planted felt like a commiseration.

‘Are you saying no to a blowjob on a twenty grand desk?’

‘Bruce, darling, you know I want to say yes.’ Another half-a-dozen kisses peppered across his face. ‘But J’onn is already waiting for me. I didn’t think we’d be interrupted. I thought we’d have more time.’

‘Baby, you can keep the Martian babysitter waiting.’

Bruce crawled a thumb over Clark’s erection, catching Clark’s mouth and biting down on his lip. Clark whimpered and bucked his hips.

‘Are we a _baby_ couple now?’ Clark teased.

‘I’m just trying to get you to misbehave. Don’t hold it against me.’ Bruce leaned his head against the headrest and took his hands off Clark.

‘What else would I expect from _Bruce Wayne_?’ Clark asked and leaned in for one more kiss before he pulled away and levitated to his feet. He didn’t quite touch the ground. ‘Happy anniversary. Early anniversary. I’ll miss you.’

‘I’ll miss you, too.’ It surprised Bruce how easy it was to say.

Clark caught the edge of his cape and ran his fingers over the hem. He chewed his lower lip and seemed to hesitate. Finally, he spoke.

‘The ship doesn’t have a video connection but, uh, there is a radio. Space radio. If, um, you wanted to, y’know, chat at some point.’

‘Chat?’ Bruce leered at him, glancing down at Clark’s crotch before raising an eyebrow at him.

‘Yeah.’ Clark’s grin was small and coy, but he wasn’t quite blushing. ‘ _Chat_.’

‘Yes, please. Happy to help however I can.’ 

Bruce tipped his chin up and Clark kissed him again, hands on Bruce’s cheeks. Deep, chasing kisses, that seemed to say: _I love you. I’ll miss you_. Bruce answered the kisses in kind, brushing his fingers through Clark’s hair, over his shoulders. _I know. I know. Me too_.

‘Right, off you go.’ Bruce pulled away. He didn’t want to let him go, but if he didn’t do it now, he didn’t know if he’d be able to.

‘Right.’ Clark moved toward the balcony, feet not touching the ground, floating backwards, still watching Bruce. ‘Take care of yourself, Bruce. I’ll be back soon.’

‘You too, Clark.’ Bruce licked his lips, the words feeling stuck in his throat. ‘And happy anniversary. I love you.’

Clark didn’t smile like the sun, he _was_ the sun, blinding and beautiful. He moved across the room in a split-second, kissing Bruce over and over. Then he was back by the balcony door, his fingers resting on the handle.

‘I love you,’ he said, the words a promise to be safe.

Then Clark was gone, moving faster than Bruce could see. Bruce got up and closed the balcony door. He brushed his fingers over the door handle, savouring the ghost of Clark’s heat. He missed him already.

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re interested, check out [the sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29040321)!


End file.
